


Dirty Talk

by withthepilot



Series: Talk to Me [2]
Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Chair Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-29
Updated: 2010-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-14 05:18:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthepilot/pseuds/withthepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The truth is, Kirk keeps making these wagers with Sulu because the results are fun whether he wins or loses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty Talk

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 of the Talk to Me series.

It's a simple wager, one that Kirk can't resist making after the last failed bet. If he wins, he gets to fuck Sulu in the botany lab. If Sulu beats him, they have sex in his chair on the bridge. Kirk barely remembers to slip in an "off duty only" clause for the bridge sex, but he's glad that he does; it's not that he minds an audience, but these are people he has to work with every damn day for the next four and a half years still. And he doesn't need Uhura telling him he's an unsanitary jerk, or Chekov blushing like a schoolgirl every time they see each other. Hell, he doesn't need Spock blushing, either. So they make the bet and seal it with a handshake, as they always do.

It turns out Sulu is fucking awesome at tennis—almost as good as he is at fencing. Furthermore, it turns out Kirk _sucks_ at tennis. Which makes sense; it's not like they have many courts back in Iowa. Also, watching Sulu running around in a tight tank top and little tennis shorts is fucking distracting, is what it is. He's so busy staring at him that he doesn't notice Sulu has made his last serve until the fuzzy yellow ball hits him square in the forehead. Then, he doesn't realize he's on the floor until he opens his eyes and sees Sulu squinting down at him.

"Match point," he says, then tilts his head. "Do you need to go to sickbay?"

Kirk groans. "How the fuck are you so good at this stupid game?"

"My sister's won a few championships here and there." Sulu purses his lips and sighs in mock devastation. "Honestly, Jim, sometimes it feels like you don't even _listen_ to me."

"I hate you so much right now."

"I know, but you'll get over it. See you on the bridge."

Sulu whistles as he walks away. Kirk hates when people whistle and while he may not know Sulu's sister is a tennis whiz, Sulu definitely knows that Kirk hates whistling.

When they're on the bridge, lighting dimmed at Sulu's request to suit the mood (the lights can get a little harsh on shift, it's true), Kirk gets a bright idea while Sulu's trying to figure out which position would be best—which is surprising, considering that he might have a mild concussion from the force of Sulu's bad-ass serve. The lieutenant is sizing up the chair, figuring out the mechanics of limbs and things in his head, and Kirk steps close, rubbing his hands together.

"Hey," he says, grinning when Sulu looks up. "Double or nothing."

"I'm not playing tennis with you again, Jim. The sight of you running around, huffing and puffing and fumbling with your racket, was way too pathetic to relive."

"That's not what I meant, but thanks." Kirk takes off his tunic and the black top beneath it, tossing them over the back of Sulu's chair. "Let's make a new wager. See who can talk the dirtiest."

"You're kidding, right?" Sulu gives him an amused look, placing his hands on his hips. Kirk also definitely notices him checking out his bare torso. Can't blame the guy for looking, really. "You know I rule at dirty talk. No competition."

"I don't think calling me 'Captain Buttface' counts, sorry to say."

Kirk shifts to slink down into his chair then, the muscles in his stomach rippling as he adjusts his posture. He spreads his legs apart and carelessly drops a hand between them, fingertips trailing along the length of his inner thigh, gluing Sulu's eyes to his crotch. Kirk smiles when Sulu inhales a deep breath through his nose, watching the lieutenant's hands clench at his sides.

He's surprised at the words that follow from Sulu's mouth.

"This is a bad idea."

"Huh?" Kirk blinks and sits up, trying not to look disappointed, though he can't quite help it. It's safe to say that he makes his stupid bets with Sulu knowing there's a possibility he might lose—and usually does because Sulu is pretty much an all-around athlete under that unassuming exterior—and that's okay, because the stakes are always enjoyable. And damn it, he was looking forward to hot sex in his chair. He's always wanted to have sex in this chair; it was _made_ for kinky shenanigans. "Why? This was your idea; I thought you wanted to..."

"Because," Sulu starts, taking off his uniform shirts—and talk about your mixed messages because Sulu without a shirt has almost always meant _sex now_. "It means that every time I turn around and look at you while we're on duty, I'm going to picture you naked and hot and _needy_ in that chair, spreading your legs and begging to be fucked."

Kirk's look of confusion instantaneously shifts into a lewd, knowing grin. Oh, it's _on_.

"That wouldn't do at all, Lieutenant," he says slowly, unzipping his uniform trousers. "You're expected to perform to the best of your abilities. I can't have you sitting at your station and fantasizing about your captain...dreaming of pinning me down in my chair and taking me hard...rubbing your cock against the console for relief..."

Sulu visibly shudders, regaining himself long enough to take off his trousers. Kirk's pleased to find no trace of underwear beneath them. "To be honest, Sir...my favorite fantasy is to bend you over my console and lick you open until you're incoherent...and _then_ , I'd take you hard."

" _Jesus_ , Hikaru, I..." Kirk pauses in taking his own pants off, and Sulu smirks, moving forward to help remove them, along with his boots. "I thought you wanted me in the chair the most."

Sulu lifts his head and Kirk nearly loses his breath under that piercing gaze. "Because I know you want it," he murmurs, running his palms over Kirk's bare thighs, squeezing lightly. "Ever since the first day you sat down in this chair...as captain of this ship...you've been wondering exactly what it'd be like for someone to spread you open, right here, just like this...and fuck you, until you're a hot, writhing mess."

Kirk's lashes flutter slightly, Sulu's words hitting all the right places, hot and dark, deep down inside of him. He brings his hands to Sulu's hips, pulling him closer, so he's half-kneeling on the chair. "You think you're the man for the job, Sulu...? That you can turn me into a mess with that long, hard cock of yours?"

"Not just my cock...my mouth, too."

And god, Kirk hates whistling but he sure does love a good double entendre. He laughs breathlessly as Sulu shifts down to his knees in front of the chair and circles his fingers around the base of Kirk's cock, stroking at a maddeningly slow pace. He ghosts hot breath over the head and Kirk moans, curling his fingers in Sulu's hair.

"Come on, suck it, Sulu," he murmurs. "Put that filthy mouth to good use."

Sulu smirks and looks as though he's about to reply but then just wraps his lips around the head, sucking gently and nudging the tip of his tongue against the slit. Kirk grips the arms of his chair tightly and groans, his pitch going higher when Sulu takes him in deeper, sucking in earnest and molding his tongue to the underside of his shaft. The captain struggles to keep his hips still, hissing between clenched teeth as he remembers his mission.

"Fuck, yes, Hikaru...that mouth was fucking made for sucking my cock. God, take it, fucking suck me 'til I come..." Sulu moans around his length and the vibrations send Kirk's body buzzing all over with pleasure. Better yet, Sulu's reaching down with his free hand to palm his own cock, and though part of Kirk wants to order him to stop, the other, more vocal part of him is absolutely loving the show. He thinks he just might explode in Sulu's hot mouth, he's so hard. "Jesus, look at you, Hikaru...just _look_ at you, you fucking g-gorgeous—"

And just like that, his first-ever captain's chair blowjob is over and he's coming with a cry, hot and heavy down Sulu's throat. The lieutenant swallows dutifully around his cock and licks carefully at the head before pulling back. Kirk slumps a bit and loosens his grip on the chair's arms, blinking to get his vision back. When he comes back to himself, he spies Sulu standing between his open legs, cock stiff, flushed and damp as it juts upright along the curve of his hipbone. And, hello, Kirk's half-hard again. That was easy.

"Fuck," Kirk whispers, just before Hikaru takes hold of his legs and tips him back in the chair, taking advantage of the captain's post-climax state, when he's most pliable and bendy. Before Kirk knows it, his legs are hooked over Sulu's shoulders and his neck would be killing him if not for the ultra-comfy padding along the back of the chair. Also, Sulu's cock keeps brushing against the crease of his thigh, which is a perfectly lovely distraction. It appears Sulu's gone and procured a packet of lube from somewhere, because slick fingertips are soon pressing against his skin. One slim digit enters Kirk and the groan that slips from his lips sounds otherworldly, as if he's having an out-of-body experience; as if he's underwater.

"That's it, Jim, open up. You love getting fucked by my fingers, don't you? You love it when I get you nice and slick for my cock. You want another? Tell me you want another; beg me for it."

" _Yes_..." Kirk moans, not wanting to give in to Sulu's commands, but finding he wants to be fucked way more. "Please, more, yeah..."

"Good boy," Sulu replies. Kirk's pride takes a little hit at that, but in a way, it's ridiculously hot to be talked to that way. The addition of another finger pushes away most of the sting to his ego. The fingers scissor and twist and Kirk arches as much as he possibly can in his position. He grabs at Sulu's shoulders, biting under his jaw.

"Fuck me, Hikaru, _fuck_ me," he gasps, and even Sulu can't resist that.

"Jesus, Jim," he mumbles distractedly. He pulls his fingers back and shifts to guide his cock into Kirk, pushing in hard enough to make the captain see stars beyond the ones visible past the bridge's view screen. Kirk gasps and lifts one hand to grip the top of the chair, digging his heels into the firm muscles of Sulu's back for leverage. He lets out a shaky groan when Sulu's buried in him to the hilt, leaning forward to lick the sweat from Kirk's upper lip.

"Fuck, I love this chair," Kirk mutters, grinning crookedly when Sulu laughs. "Come on, Sulu, fuck me hard."

"You got it," the pilot says. He starts a fast rhythm that's perfect as always, Kirk's propped legs tensing as he works the angle and thrusts in deep. Sulu kisses him roughly and Kirk is more than happy to return it, sucking at his lips to get his fill, gasping with a full-body spasm when Sulu pinches his nipple. "God, so hot when you're begging for it, Kirk," Sulu growls, sliding the index and middle fingers of his clean hand over Kirk's parted lips. The captain takes them into his mouth immediately and sucks hard, eyes blazing with blue fire as they gaze into Sulu's. "That's right," he murmurs, pushing them further into Kirk's mouth. "Suck them 'til they're soaking wet."

Kirk moans lowly and obeys, as overwhelmed as he is from the constant thrusts that are making him quake from the inside out. He gasps when Sulu pulls his fingers away and then slides the damp tips up along the underside of Kirk's twitching cock, tracing the pulsing vein to the crown. Sulu moves them over the glistening head just as he thrusts hard enough to hit Kirk's prostate, the combined sensations forcing a muddled, undignified sound from Kirk's throat.

"Think I can make you come again, Jim...? Just one more time, all over your chair?"

"You know you can," Kirk grunts, pushing up for more contact with Sulu's hand. He licks his lips, sliding his hand over the pilot's throat, feeling the rapid-fire thrum of his pulse. "But you first," he murmurs. "Come inside me, Hikaru."

Kirk bears his hips down and clenches around Sulu's cock as he tightens his hand slightly over his windpipe, taking a chance on Sulu's kinks kicking in. It works almost immediately—the lieutenant's breath stutters and his eyes go slightly unfocused as he jerks forward and empties himself inside Kirk, groaning his name. Kirk watches with rapt fascination, his cock feeling impossibly hard again. He waits and tries not to whimper too much as Sulu regains his senses, wondering what he'll do next. As always, the best pilot in all of Starfleet has a trick up his sleeve. Kirk closes his eyes and shudders when he feels hot breath pouring over the curve of his ear and deft fingers curling around the throbbing length of his cock.

"I should get on my knees and lick my cum out of your aching, dripping hole," he whispers. Kirk tenses against him, his mouth falling open with a curse. Sulu chuckles and bites at his ear, gives his shaft a rough swipe of his palm. "Then I'd feed it to you, so you can taste us both...or I'd smear it over my cock to fuck you. Again. Until you're coming and coming and you can't fucking stop..."

" _Fuck_!" Kirk yells, his head smacking back against his chair as he bucks and comes suddenly, spurting all over his chest and Sulu's hand. He feels floaty in the afterglow of it and when the throbbing in his groin dies down, he feels Sulu carefully pulling out and lowering Kirk's legs. Then he's got a lap full of warm pilot and he sighs between the kisses dropped to his lips. "How....are you so good...at _everything_ ," Kirk murmurs. Sulu smiles into a lingering kiss.

"As if you're any different," he says. "I'm not too proud to call this one a draw."

Kirk smiles, stretching his aching limbs and running his hand down Sulu's side. "Football," he says. "American football. You any good at that?"

"Ehh, not really."

"Great. That's what we're playing tomorrow."


End file.
